


Jonathan Sims and the Balcony’s Flower

by AllePuffle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Annabelle Can Be Pastel Goth, Canon Asexual Character, Child Neglect, Elias Is Also Voldemort, Elias Is Martin’s Dad, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Jon Is 5’1, Jon Would Be A Mary Sue But He Has ~Mental Issues~, Jon is low key Harry Potter, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No beta we kayak like Tim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter And Elias Have Been Divorced 12 Times, Self-Harm, but less death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllePuffle/pseuds/AllePuffle
Summary: Your Average Harry Potter Meets Magnus Archives  Fic.Jon is invited to attend The Magnus Institute. Along the way he meets friends, foes, an adorable cat, and the love of his life.Everything is going his way. The issue? He’s the chosen one, and his love is the person he is destined to kill.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, I’m here with a new fic. Woo! This is an AU so some things will be different. Below I will list all of the major changes to characters. There will be MINOR SPOILERS, if you skip this section it should not hinder your reading experience. Enjoy!
> 
> Jon: Has a scar, his personality is closer to season 1 and 2 in the beginning but will develop. Age- 15/16
> 
> Martin: Son of Elias, considers Peter his dad as well. Age- 15
> 
> Elias: Voldemort, on and off husband of Peter. Age- late 50s
> 
> Peter: His personality is more energetic as I’ve mixed him with Hagrid, on and off husband of Elias. Age- late 50s 
> 
> Tim: Half Grindylow. Age- 15
> 
> Sasha / Not Sasha (Natasha): Fraternal twins. Age- 15
> 
> Basira: Dating Daisy. Age- 19
> 
> Daisy: Werewolf, dating Basira. Age- 19
> 
> Melanie: Blind, dating Georgie. Age- 17
> 
> Georgie: Half fairy, dating Melanie. Age- 16

Jonathan Sims was not the brightest when it came to ‘street smarts’. He was, and always will be, a book person. As such, you must understand that when Jon went outside and actually did things with other people he could be rather inept. To put it quite frankly, Jon was a dumbass. 

He loved to go out and explore when his auntie would let him, but it seemed like the second his foot crossed the threshold misfortune would come his way. 

Maybe it was because one of Jon’s favorite hobbies was to watch people. He would regularly sit down at the Hilltop Cafe and just watch. Jon fell into this routine at the age of fourteen. He would wake up and pester his auntie until she capitulated into letting him walk to the cafe. 

By the time he was fifteen, Jon had become acquaintances with the Owner of Hilltop Cafe, Raymond, and his adopted daughter Agnes. They did not find his people watching hobby weird or uncomfortable. In fact, they always gave him the seat with the best view so he could watch more effectively. 

Agnes was one of the waitresses that was on staff more often than not. She would take his order –which was a black coffee with five shots of espresso– and leave him to watch the comings and goings of the people in Little Whining, Surrey. 

One of Jon’s favorite couples to observe was Samantha and Harlow Jamenson. He had watched their relationship from the very beginning. Jon was there on Samantha and Harlow’s first date and he just knew they were going to be together for a long time. However, being with a partner for an extended amount of time is not the same as being happy with said partner.

On the day our story started, Samantha and Harlow were getting into one of their famous marital arguments. From what Jon could glean, it was about having children. Jon jotted down the details of the fight in his notebook under the section he had labeled The Jamensons. He shifted his eyes over to the couple and leaned in to hear them better.

Jon turned his head around to greet who he thought would be Agnes returning with his coffee. Instead he was faced with a man with short grey hair and a matching beard. 

The man had the most peculiar clothes on. Jon had never been out to the docks, his auntie and uncle never let him go anywhere except for the Hilltop Cafe, but he would guess that the man was dressed exactly like a sailor. He had a white cap on with a silver anchor sewn onto the front. A navy cable knit sweater was worn over a long faded trench coat. He looked like a cartoon character brought to life.

Jon raised his eyebrows. No one ever approached him when he was sitting in the cafe. Whenever someone tried to come near him, Jon would give them a snide look and flash them his teeth. That always drove them away.

The man said absolutely nothing; he just smiled at Jon. At least, Jon thought he was smiling. It was hard to see his mouth because of the beard, but the crinkles around his eyes gave him the impression that the man was grinning.

Expecting the man to go away if he ignored him, Jon refocused his attention onto his copy of Arthur Brooke’s The Tragicall Historye. He must have read that novel twenty times, it was his go to book. Having a book on hand was necessary when people watching, in case anyone got suspicious of you. Burying his nose in a novel would make him look too busy to be up to anything of malice. 

Jon pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose, pushing his thin glasses up his face. “Can I help you?” Jon tried not to sound annoyed.

The man must have been waiting for Jon to speak, as the second Jon opened his mouth, he pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. The man still did not say a word. He stared at Jon, probably trying to size him up.

“Can I help you, sir?” Jon repeated with an edge of venom behind his voice. “Or are you just going to sit there?” He deadpanned.

“Well, that depends.” The man finally spoke. His voice was higher than Jon though it would be. A part of him thought the man would be Cockney, maybe it was his rustic appearance. “Are you Jonathan Sims, resident of Number Four Privet Drive?”

This took Jon aback. His name was common knowledge that anyone could look up in a phone book. Even his address, while creepy to mention, could be found in the phone book or in his school records. But to be able to identify Jon by name just on appearance was . . . unsettling.

Jon took a breath and steadied himself. “Who is asking?” He kept his tone even.

The man laughed, but his it lacked emotion or joy. “Oh right! How rude of me. You see an odd man approach you and ask you your name, of course you’re sceptical.” He never lost his smile. “My name is Peter Lukas. I’m here with an offer.”

Jon slowly closed The Tragicall Historye and placed the book on the wooden table, threading his fingers together while resting his chin on his knuckles. Jon’s interest was piqued. “Go on.”

Peter was about to make his case when they both heard someone clear their throat. Jon was met with the sight of Agnes holding his black coffee in one hand and a plate of hash browns with pancakes and cheesy eggs in another.

“Er, I’ve got your food here.” Angus said in a soft and meek way, which was normal for her. “And your coffee as well, Jon.” She placed the plate and cup in front of their respective owners.

“Thank you, dear.” Peter smiled.. Jon nodded his gratitude and jerked his head to the side, signaling that he would like her to leave. Peter dug into his food while Jon waited for him to finish, occasionally sipping his coffee. 

“Please continue, mister Lukas.” Jon tried over the sound of Peter chewing.

Peter picked at his eggs with a fork. “Yes, yes.” But, instead of explaining his offer, Peter just kept on eating his brunch. “Tell me about yourself, Jonathan.”

“What would you like to hear?” Jon swirled his coffee about absentmindedly. He was not willing to give up any kind of information that was not available to the public.

“General things.” Peter waved his hand dismissively. “Think of this as an interview for your new school. Although you are basically accepted already.” 

So this was about a school. Jon had no idea why he would be in consideration for any kind of academy. Unless his auntie or uncle submitted his resume, which was unlike. If they were going to help someone get into a private school it would be Courtney or Branden. 

Jon decided that this was an important opportunity and he needed to make a good impression. He straightened himself and fixed the cuff of his shirt. Tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear, Jon began to explain the key details that any recruiter would need to know about him.

“My name is Jonathan Sims, like you know. I am currently enrolled in Little Whining High School, after summer break I will be in year eleven. I have straight As in all my classes, even the honours classes.” Jon bragged.

“I know all of that, Jonathan.” Peter dropped his fork on the plate. “Tell me about your family life. You live with your Aunt and her husband if I am not mistaken?”

While Jon was still uneasy about telling Peter his details, if Jon was going to get into this school he had to be forthright. 

“Yes, I live with my aunt Brittany, my uncle Jeffrey, and my two cousins Courtney and Branden.” Jon’s tone lost its edge. He was not fond of thinking about his family. They never paid him any mind. So why should he pay them any? 

“What do you think about them?” Peter kept his gaze on his hash browns.

“I beg your pardon?” Jon’s voice cracked. Peter looked at him urging him to go on. “I mean they are my family. I love them. They provide me with food, water, and a place to sleep. I am eternally grateful for their charity.” Jon decided to leave out the cupboard under the stairs. The last time he mentioned the cupboard to someone outside of Number Four, his auntie and uncle had locked him in it for over a week.

“How great to hear. I mean they must be pretty laid back.” That confused Jon. His auntie and uncle were the definition of uptight. “I wouldn’t let my son-in-law go out everyday to a cafe a mile away from home.”

Storing away Peter’s slip of the lip about his son-in-law, Jon cleared things up. “I know the owner. Raymond is the closest thing to a friend I have.” Jon glaced down at his watch. “Although Raymond doesn’t like me being out here all alone for the entire day. My uncle Jeffrey is required to check in on me everyday at noon. It’s a small price for him to pay to get me off of my aunt’s back for the rest of the day.”

Peter peered up at the clock on the wall of The Hilltop Cafe. “So your uncle should be here to check up on you in five minutes?”

“Yes, he stops by on his way to lunch.” Jon took a huge gulp of his coffee, enjoying the feeling of hot liquid running down his throat.

Agnes came back over to take Peter’s plate from him. She stopped in her tracks and for the first time in a while, she actually made eye contact with a customer besides Jon. Her mouth dropped open slightly and she stood in place for an odd amount of time. Peter looked back at her with an intensity Jon didn’t think the old man was capable of. 

“I’ll. . . er . . . get this out of your way, sir” Agnes murmured. She scooped up Peter’s plate and Jon’s coffee which he hadn’t finished drinking yet. Before Jon could ask Agnes to bring his coffee back, she was gone, half running to the kitchen.

“Do you know her?” Jon asked. He had never seen Agnes react like that to anyone. She was nervous, sure, but Agnes was always professional when working.

“I know her father, Raymond. I didn’t know he was the Raymond who owned this store.” Peter looked lost in thought. “It’s funny how small the world is sometimes.” Jon chuckled awkwardly, not knowing where to take the conversation next.

Jon’s watch went off to remind him that it was noon. He normally had it set so he could make himself look busy. His family was not aware of his people watching hobby, and if Jon had to guess, he didn’t think his uncle would be thrilled to find out about it.

As if on cue, his uncle appeared in the window of the Hilltop Cafe. He seemed surprised that someone was sitting across from his nephew. His eyes focused on the two, Jeffrey entered the cafe.

Jeffrey marched up their table. “What is this then?” He snapped. “Who are you?”

Peter smiled, Jon noticed that his smile wasn’t as warm as he had thought. There was something lingering behind his eyes that Jon could not decode.

“Peter Lukas. I am from the Magnus Institute. You must have heard of us. I trust your wife told you and your children all about my employers.”

Apparently he had heard of ‘The Magnus Institute’ as Jeffrey’s round face grew red and his eyebrows tilted down. “Why are you here?” Jeffrey gritted out of his teeth.

“It’s time for Jonathan’s enrollment in our Inst–” 

“No!” Jeffrey half yelled, drawing the attention of other customers. “No, he is not interested, thank you.” Jeffrey grabbed Jon’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.

“Come on boy, we are leaving.” Jeffrey spat. Jon barely had time to grab The Tragicall Historye and his notebook before Jeffrey pulled him away from the table and out of the door.

“Wait, wait.” Jon begged as he was pulled out onto the street. “I wanted to hear what he was going to say.”

Jon struggled weakly but that just ended up hurting his shoulder more. Jeffrey dragged him all the way to Number Four Privet drive. When they got inside, Jeffrey slammed the door shut and pressed Jon up against the wall. 

“What did he tell you, boy?” Jeffrey said with more hate than Jon had ever heard in his uncle’s voice. 

“Nothing, nothing, I swear.” Jon pleaded. “He just said he wanted to offer me something.”

“What offer?!”

“I don’t know. He was going to tell me but then you came in.” Jon was almost crying. He didn’t like to show it, but Jon could be rather emotional at times.

Jeffrey threw him to the ground. He was under one hundred and ten pounds so Jeffrey could pick up him by the shirt collar with ease. He swung open the cupboard door and pushed Jon inside, closing the door.

Jon scrambled up and pounded on the door. “Uncle! Uncle, please let me out. I didn’t do anything!”

“You’ll be staying there for three days at least. This is for your own good, Jonathan. That man is dangerous.” Jon could only see his uncle’s eyes through the slit in the door. “Never speak about him again, don’t even think about him. And if you even consider bringing up that– that Institute in front of your auntie, you’ll be out on the streets before you can say ‘what’. Understand?”

And without waiting for an answer, Jeffrey slid the slit shut and locked the door, leaving Jon in a familiar darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin Blackwood gets an important letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, I’m back! Just to preface this chapter, Peter and Elias might seem a bit OOC, I’d like to remind you that they are the parents of Martin and in their own weird and crazy way, they love him.

Martin Blackwood was never a huge fan of Bouchard Manor. There were too many doorways and halls. If Martin shouted into the foyer near the entrance, his words would echo through the whole house, always falling on deaf ears. All of the vacant space made Martin feel weird, and in a way, empty. Besides his papa, dad, and the occasional work associate, Martin was all alone.

Well, that wasn’t true. He had the house elves. God, if his dad heard him say that he would probably ground Martin for a month. The house elves were not supposed to be friends, just hands to help out around the manor. However, Martin always liked the elves, specifically Trinket. She was kind to Martin, even when he was being a brat. Her motherly demeanor was a relief to him.

Martin fell, quite comically, onto his bed. His face scratched against the black lace that lined his duvet. Hulled himself back up. Martin has already gotten dressed and taken a shower. He had on the classic plain robes of a student that had not been sorted yet. The cuffs of his robes were askew and unorderly. 

Martin exited his room and fixed his robes so he looked more refined. That day was Friday, which meant his papa would be home today. He tried to keep his steps even as to not convey how excited he was to see him. The walk to the dining room was long and boring, but he eventually got there.

Skipping lightly over to the chamber entrance, Martin threw open the dining room’s large doors. He saw that his papa was back from the business trip. His dad was lounging on the couch next to the fireplace. The two of them were talking in hushed whispers.

“Papa!” Martin said barely raising his voice, but the empty chamber made it sound like he was shouting. He moved across the room, meeting his papa halfway in a hug. “How was your trip?” 

His papa let go of him and walked back over to his dad. He sat down next to the intricate carpet. His papa took off his muggle cap that he wore while out in their world, and shrugged the big overcoat down his shoulders, discarding it near the fireplace.

His dad sighed. “It did not go as planned, Martin. The boy apparently said no.”

His papa shot his hand up, to stop his husband. “It’s not that, Elias. He didn’t get an opportunity to answer me. His damn uncle took him away from the cafe before I had the chance to ask.”

Martin pulled out a chair and sat down, taking a piece of toast from the stack in front of him. He absentmindedly nibbled on the slice of bread as he watched his parents fight.

They kept exchanging words about the necessity of this boy attending The Magnus Institute. Martin didn’t understand why the boy was so important. His papa’s job was to recruit the muggleborns and the wizards adopted by muggle families. If they didn’t get him on the first try, his papa could always go again. They were acting like they had lost him forever.

It escalated to a point where they were nearly yelling at each other. Martin stepped in with a firm but humorous tone. “Calm down papa. If you argue with dad anymore we are going to have to write the divorce lawyers again.” 

Peter rolled his eyes but did not scold his son. After his and Elias’ seventh divorce, they stopped reprimanding Martin for making jokes, even making a few of their own.

“All I am saying is, if you want to get him to The Magnus Institute, you are going to have to drag him out of Number Four Privet Drive. His uncle was adamant about not letting him attend.” Martin’s papa explained shortly.

“You know I can’t go near that wretched house.” His dad hissed. 

As his parents continued to bicker, Martin peered up to see a window bursting open, an owl flew through the hole and landed near Martin’s plate.

The owl extended its claw towards Martin who untied the letter attached to the owl’s leg. He slowly unrolled the letter, read the first line, and quickly shot up. He gave the rest of his toast to the owl and sent it on its way. 

“Papa, dad!” Martin was bursting on the seems. “Look, look!” He shoved the letter in his parents’ face. 

Martin’s joy was enhanced by the genuine smiles that split onto his parents’ expressions. His dad snatched the letter from Martin’s hand, read it, and then passed it off to his husband. 

His papa put the letter on the desk next to the fireplace. He turned to Martin and ruffled his short strawberry blonde hair. “That’s my boy.” He grinned.

His dad took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt before putting them back on to observe his son better. “We always knew you had it in you, Martin. I am . . . proud of you.” Martin’s heart fluttered under the rare praise.

Martin took the acceptance letter from the desk and clutched it to his chest. “I can’t believe it’s official, I’m going to the Institute.” His voice grew high. “I’m a wizard.”

His papa ushered him to the table, and sat Martin down. “I recognized that you were magical when you were only two years old. You’re going to be a powerful wizard.”

His dad cleared his throat and jerked his head toward an envelope on the desk. His papa rolled his eyes and groaned, turning back to him. “Martin, I am beyond happy for you. Why don’t you go to Diagon Alley and get your school supplies. When you get back we can all go to the ice cream parlor to celebrate.”

His dad passed a jar of Floo powder to Martin who was already walking over to the fireplace. His heart was racing. He took a handful of powder and tossed it into the flames. “Diagon Alley.” He cried clearly.

The world spun around him. Green flames swirled around his eyes. He pressed a hand to the solid surface that was materializing around him. He stepped out of the flames and stabilized himself. A part of his robe was askew, he fixed it quickly before anyone could notice.

After going to every shop he could to get his school supplies he arrived at the shop he had been looking forward to. Olivanders, his first wand.

An old man with a wispy beard and a shock of white hair greeted him at the entrance. He recognized the man from his history textbook as Ollivander. The shop was empty, except for Ollivander and Martin. Shelves with layers and layers of wands were stacked to the top of the ceiling. 

“Hello, my dear boy!” Ollivander rushed over to Martin. They shook hands.

“Good morning. Are you mister Ollivander?” The old man nodded. “How wonderful! I am here to get my first wand.” This was Martin’s favorite part about going out of the Manor. He was able to slip on a mask. He didn’t like it when the real him was incharge. The real him was a stutter-y and weird mess. Out here he was just Martin Blackwood, son of Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas. He could act like he was confident and no one would know any better.

Ollivander observed him. “A new student, eh?” 

“Yes! I just got my letter this morning. I have been waiting to get my wand my whole life.” Martin grinned.

“How amazing. It is a magical experience. Wands are an extension of the wizard. The choosing of a wand is your first step on your journey to become a wizard.” Ollivander sounded like he was reading off of a script, but his tone was so full of whimsical grace that Martin couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Ollivander walked over to a wand that was already out of the box. “Try this out for size.” He said, handing it to Martin. “Just give it a wave and we’ll see what's what.”

The wand was cold in his grip. Martin knew this was the wrong wand before he even waved it. He swung it slightly to the left and a spark flew from the end. The spark grew into an ember, which turned into a flame, which finalized as an explosion that propelled him backwards and onto the ground.

Martin felt a tickling pain in his right forearm. His robe sleeve was on fire. Ollivander ran over and took out his wand, muttering a spell. Water shot from the tip of his wand, dousing out the flames before it could spread any further.

Martin panted and tried to collect himself before wiping the ashes of his ruined robe onto the floor. He ran his fingers over the missing part, making certain that he had not burned himself. He swept the ashes into his hand and discarded it into the nearest trash can. 

“Are you alright, my child. I am sorry, I have never seen a wand react to a wizard like that.” Ollivander grabbed his elbow and pulled him closer, examining Martin’s white skin.

Ollivander’s gaze landed on Martin’s birthmark. His mouth dropped open. He let the boy’s arm fall to his side. “What is that?” Ollivander was slowly backing up until his waist hit the edge of his counter.

Martin looked down and ran a finger over his birthmark. It was a grey blob that resembled a cloud of smoke. It was rather big and spreaded over his whole forearm. He never really paid it any mind, although Martin could vaguely remember his dad –or maybe it was his papa– telling him that he should keep it covered at all times.

“I-It’s a birthmark?” Martin's inflection rose at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. He pulled the sleeve of his robe around so the birthmark was under cloth again.

Ollivander didn’t seem like he believed Martin, but was apparently too frightened to say anything. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Right, boy, I have the perfect wand for you.”

He turned around on heel and walked into the backroom. Martin stood silently, waiting for the man to come and give him his ‘perfect wand’. Ollivander emerged a few minutes later with the most beautiful wand Martin had ever seen.

It was normal in appearance. The wood that it was made out of had the texture and colour of a bone. The handle of the wand ended in a hook that was pointed enough to hurt. Random black marks littered the wood near the handle. All of this could have been ignored by Martin, but something in its very being just . . . drew him to the wand.

“What is that!” Martin squeaked, not being able to contain his excitement.

Ollivander handed the wand to Martin who took it with a death grip. “Just wave it, boy.” His previous cheer was gone, Ollivander hurried him like he wanted Martin gone as fast as possible.

Martin slowly moved the wand. Smoke immediately poured out of the tip. Contrary to the previous wand, the smoke was controlled and almost calming. It swirled and coiled around Martin’s body. He flicked the wand again and the smoke shot back inside the wand.

“You’re right, this wand is brilliant, I’ll take it.” Martin smiled at Ollivander. “How much?” He reached for the leather pouch in his robe.

Ollivander’s shaky hands took the wand from Martin’s grasp. Martin heavily contemplated not letting Ollivander take the wand from him, but decided that he would soon get it back, so it should be fine.

“Well, a yew wood wand, thirteen and a half inches, with a phoenix feather core.” Ollivander locked eyes with Martin. “That will be eleven Galleons.” Ollivander held out his hand which Martin placed the coins in. 

Martin grabbed the wand back from Ollivander just slow enough as to not be rude. “Thank you, Mister Ollivander, really.” He strode over to the door, opening it and letting in fresh air.

“Boy, if I may ask.” Ollivander shouted from across the store. “What is your name?”

Martin twisted his mouth in confusion, he didn’t see how that was relevant. Martin was a pretty private person, and didn’t like handing out information about himself all willy nilly. 

He was only able to get out an ‘erm’ when a hand rested on his shoulder. He felt the filimar rings on his dad’s fingers. 

“There you are.” His dad said mildly. “I have been looking for you all over. Let’s, it’s time to get ice cream, your father has already picked out a booth.”

Martin gladly left the store and waited for his dad to join him. His dad glared at Ollivander before closing the door harshly behind him. 

“Let me see it.” His dad half asked, half ordered.

Martin fished the wand out of the pocket in his robe. “Here it is, thirteen and a half inches, and a phoenix feather core. Cool, right?”

His dad took the wand from Martin, observing the handle and wood before handing it back to his son. “Yes, a very good choice. Did you know yew wood is rumored to grant its possessor the power over life and death, but that could be said about all wands, couldn’t it?”

“How did you know it was yew wood?” Martin questioned.

His dad grinned at him. “I used to have one just like it when I was your age.” He took Martin by the arm. “Come, Martin, let’s go show your papa the new wand.” And with that they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be posting again next Thursday


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Thank you all so much for the nice comments. Honestly, they make my week! This chapter we will have a prime example of Alle not knowing anything about British Transportation.

It had been three weeks since Jon saw the light of day. His auntie and uncle gave him a packet of crackers once a day. He was able to keep hydrated because of the large bottle of water that was in the corner of the cupboard. When everyone else was asleep Jon would pick the lock of the door so he could go to the bathroom and refill his water.

Jon was lucky that he was so short, as that meant he could fit inside the cupboard better. His auntie was freakishly tall, so he didn’t think he got it from his mother’s side. However, it wasn’t like he had ever seen his mother or father. 

When he was nine months old, his dear mother and father died in a car crash. He couldn’t remember anything about them, and he had never been given a photo of them. When he was bored, Jon would imagine what his mother and father looked like. 

He thought of his mother as a mixed, beautiful, and authoritative woman, and his father always appeared as a dark skinned, handsome, and gentle man. He must have gotten the dark hair from his father’s side, because his auntie had a hair colour closer to chestnut. 

Jon thought about his eyes a lot, everybody on his auntie’s side had brown eyes, and taking into consideration his father’s ancestry, there was a zero point five percent chance that he would have green eyes. So it was surprising that his eyes were a vivid shamrock. More than what should be natural, it was deeper than the grass outside Number Four, which was pretty impressive.

After Jon’s parents passed away, his auntie and uncle were kind enough to take him in. Sure, they could be a little bit harsh sometimes, but he knew they loved him. Locking him in the cupboard under the stairs was just their way of tough love. 

On the first day of the third week, Jon was sitting in the corner of the cupboard. He was writing a paper on advanced musicology. Whenever he walked home from The Hilltop Cafe, Jon would stop by the library and check out books on whatever subject interested him.

Jon picked musicology textbooks more often than not. The science behind what made music so enjoyable fascinated him. He wrote essays about his knowledge so he could organize his thoughts. There was nothing Jon hated more than a messy work space, so the second he finished a book he would return it to the library and keep his essays to look back on.

The essays and textbooks were the only things that made his time in the cupboard bearable. If he was left alone with his mind Jon might have gone crazy. 

As he hummed a song under his breath –Jon had heard it on the radio through the cupboard door– a banging racked on his door. 

“Shut. UP!” Courtney yelled through the door of his cupboard.

“I have been listening to your fucking voice for the last five hours. I’m getting a headache.” Jon smiled. That was the goal.

He heard his uncle walk by. “Daddy, Jon won’t shut up. He’s been singing forever.” Courtney pouted. “I want him out of here!”

Jeffrey sighed. “He’s still grounded, honey.” 

Jon grinned as he imagined the expression on his cousin’s face. Courtney and Branden always got their way, hearing her father deny a direct order must have upset Courtney.

“Uncle, I really am sorry. I’ve learnt my lesson, please let me out now.” Jon had just finished his last essay on the last textbook he had. The boredom was already starting to weigh on him.

“No, boy, my resolve will not be changed.” Jeffrey yelled through the door.

“You can’t keep me in here forever!” Jon launched up and banged on the door. “It’s not right!”

“Jonathan,” It sounded like his uncle was right next to the door. “You have no idea what is right and what is wrong now. I’m doing this for your own good.” 

And that was when Jon made up his mind; he was going to run away. He loved his auntie and uncle, but the thought of staying in that cupboard for a day more drove Jon up the wall. He wouldn’t run away forever, just until the air cleared and his uncle calmed down.

When dark fell that night, Jon gathered together his things. He had his school bag in the cupboard, which he used for storing his things. He packed all of his essays, and a few textbooks, inside the backpack neatly.

Picking the lock on the door, Jon tiptoed towards the kitchen. He busted open the cabinet that his auntie kept her spare change in. He took about sixty pounds. Reaching back in the cabinet, he felt the necklace. Taking the necklace from the cabinet, Jon clasped it around his neck.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned the lock of the front door gently, as to not disturb his sleeping family. 

The cold night air hit the back of Jon’s neck. He tugged the hair tie out of his hair and twisted it around his wrist. The new shelter on his neck that his hair provided made the chill from the outside more bearable, but Jon still wished he had brought a coat. 

He had planned to go to the bus station and book a ticket for the neighbourhood over, Weston. However, when he arrived at the station he was greeted with a sign that indicated all the buses were unable to reach Surrey because of a fire that had broken out in the greater London area. 

That didn’t make much sense, as the maps showed that there were many other routes buses could take to reach the station. But, Jon had never been outside Surrey, so maybe he was just ignorant of the bus system.

Jon decided to walk to the train station that was at least an hour away. In the long run, it would be faster than the buses. The downside, besides the time it would take to get to the station, was that he would have to travel down Beholding Road.

Jon had only been near Beholding Road once, and he had been content to keep it that way. When he was fourteen, when he had just started going to The Hilltop Cafe, Jon had gotten lost on the way to the Cafe. He wouldn’t be able to describe the exact feeling that overcame him. But, when he was trying to get to sleep and it reached that time of night where awful thoughts found their way into one’s head, he could feel it again. If he was pressed about it, Jon would say it was most akin to a ceaseless watching, like if Jon turned around fast enough, he would spot a figure lurking in the distance. 

He had eventually found his way out of Beholding Road and to The Hilltop Cafe, but that was during the day. Even in the light, the twisting and turning streets baffled Jon. Now, in the dark, he was certain he would get lost, but like before, Jon was sure he could find some way back to a street he knew.

Jon’s foot began to visibly shake as he approached the curb of Beholding Road. Its plain houses seemed to lean into the sides of the streets, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere. 

No lights inside the houses were lit. A few dim street lamps were the only real source of brightness on the whole street. At the end of the street, a large train station waited for Jon. The street itself was only, but he wouldn’t have to turn at all, so he shouldn’t get too lost.

Jon shoved his hands in his pockets and set off down the street swiftly. He didn’t want to look scared. He had no reputation to maintain. Jon was a nobody to the residents of Beholding Road, but Jon's self worth and ego did not allow him to show anything that resembled fear in public.

After a few seconds of walking with no interference, Jon slowed himself and established a causal pace. Just as he calmed enough to loosen the grip on his backpack straps, the feeling returned.

Jon barely stopped himself from dashing back to the safety outside of a Beholding Road as the creeping sense of dread draped over him. Jon wanted to make himself as small as possible so no one could see him. He knew, he simply knew, that if he gazed over his shoulders he would see a shadowy physique.

He squinted his eyes, making his vision blurry enough so he could explain away any movement or dark shape as a trick of the mind. Jon’s pace picked up as his breath grew rapid. Then it happened.

A hand found its place on Jon’s arm, grabbing it tight enough to make him stop in his tracks. He spun around and threw out his hands in something that resembled an attack. Jon wasn’t proud of the shriek that found its way out of his mouth.

The man whose hand had gripped Jon was familiar. If the encounter hadn’t been so strange, Jon doubted he would have been able to recognize Peter Lukas just on appearance, as it had been over three weeks since they had met. It helped that Peter didn’t change his clothes, from what Jon could remember, Peter had worn the exact same outfit, he even had the same sailor’s cap on.

“What the hell!” Jon screamed in a delayed reaction. “Peter Lukas?” He said more as confirmation than a question.

“Hello Jonathan, it's been awhile. What are you doing out here at this time of night?” Peter smiled his odd smile at Jon.

Now that was slightly creepy, but the memory of Peter’s offer seeped its way into Jon’s mind. “I could ask you the same thing.” Jon tried to add an air of casual humor.

“Well I’m actually here to follow up on your admission to The Magnus Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Peter said casually like Jon know what he is talking about

Jon’s mind drew a blank. He must have misheard Peter, that couldn’t be the name of an actual school. “I’m sorry Mister Lukas, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Peter looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean by that, Jonathan?”

“I’ve never heard of your school.” 

“You must be joking!” Jon shook his head. “Your aunt and uncle were supposed to tell you once you were old enough to understand.” Peter squinted. “Do you know what you are?”

Jon frowned and answered the best way he could. “A. . . human?”

“Jonathan, how did your parents die?” Peter sounded almost panicked.

“I. . . er they died in a car accident over fifteen years ago. It’s in the public records, I thought you would have read it.” Jon thought out loud.

“No, no, no, that’s. . .” Peter was clearly upset, although Jon couldn’t tell if he was mad or sad. “That’s just. . . no!”

“Jonathan, your parents didn’t die in a car crash, they were murdered.” Jon’s heart fell in his chest. “They died heroes, they died defending you from a rogue wizard.”

“Wait a second!” Jon interrupted. “Why do you keep on bringing up wizards and witches? T-they don’t exist.”

Peter downcasted his gaze and drew out a stick with beautiful runes decorating the handle. “Oculus Reparo.” He mumbled. A bright light hummed at the tip of the stick and shot out in the direction of Jon’s glasses.

Jon squeezed his eyes shut and quickly took off his cracked glasses. Only, when he felt them again he couldn’t feel anything that resembled the large piece of glass missing from his glasses. Jon opened his eyes to find his glasses completely fixed, not even a smudge of dirt on them.

“What did you just do?” Jon wanted to run, but planted himself in the street out of curiosity.

Peter knelt down so that he was face to face with Jon. “Listen, my boy, I need you to do something for me.” He took a deep breath. “Keep an open mind.”

He ran a hand down his face and sat down on the sidewalk, motioning for Jon to do the same. “I’m going to be blunt with you Jonathan. Wizards are real, they are real, and they live among normal humans. Not only that, but, you are one. You’re wizard Jonathan. Just like your parents.”

“I-” Jon attempted to get out.

“Don’t say you don’t believe me, because that will just make things harder.” Peter said, expecting Jon’s answer. “You saw what I did to your glasses, explain that with your science.”

“What does this have to do with The Magnus Institute?” Jon managed. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour. No matter how he reasoned it, Jon could not come up with a way his glasses could have been fixed so fast. Peter had to be telling the truth.

Jon wasn’t a blind boy, he knew weird things happened around him. Weird things happened around everybody, but more often than not, they happened around Jon. These incidents almost always landed him in the cupboard.

One time, when Jon, Courtney, and Branden were out at the park they had pushed him down the firefighter pole, as they thought it was funny. Jon didn’t notice this, but apparently in a fit of rage he slammed down his fist on the mulch at the same time a bolt of lightning struck the ground only meters from them.

Another time of note was when he was forced to return his library book on the history of the Mechanisms because his aunt found them too ‘radical’, which made no sense. Jon had thrown a hissy fit about it but eventually gave and returned the book. This wouldn’t be at all surprising if the book hadn’t been waiting for him when he got back to his cupboard that night.

The situation that stuck out most in his mind was when he had asked his uncle to check up on him every day at The Hilltop Cafe, per Raymond's request. When it happened it was like a floating memory, Jon was sure if he had been spacing out he wouldn’t have caught the thought, but he grabbed ahold of the memory and extracted it. He just knew it suddenly. It was in his head. Jeffrey was having an affair with the neighbour. By the look on his uncle’s face when he told him, Jon was right. Needless to say, Jon had gotten his way.

“The Magnus Institute is where you’ll be able to hone your skills as a wizard.” Peter peered at him with hope. “That is if you’re willing to attend.”

“Honestly, Peter. I have nothing left for me here. My family is quite shit. I’m not certain how much I believe you, but what do I have to lose.” Jon sighed.

Peter grinned. “Wonderful!” He dug inside his pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “I have to go, head to this address as soon as morning light and ask for Anthony Cane, make sure to tell him your name.”

Peter pointed in a direction back near Privet Drive. “You’ll find Diagon Alley that way.” 

Jon turned to glare at the cluster of buildings in the distance, and when he looked back, Peter was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An FYI, the necklace will show up later, I know it seems like I mentioned it out of no where, but there is a purpose for everything :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin plays around with his new wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp one week into hiatus and I almost forgot to update today. Not gonna lie, TMA was the only structure in my life. I’m just going to exist with out the passage of time for the next five weeks.

Martin was tapped on the nose by a wrinkled and veiny hand. He blinked away his sleepy glazed haze to see Trinket over him.

Martin scrambled up the headboard in shock. “Christ, Trinket! You don’t wake someone up like that.” He said without any hate in his voice.

Trinket smiled sweetly at him and brushed a lock of Martin’s wavy hair behind his ear. The house elf jumped from the side of bed, beckoning Martin to join her outside the comfort of his warm sheets.

“Come on, my dear.” Trinket spoke fondly. “Mister Bouchard has asked me to fetch you for breakfast. I believe Mister Lukas is back again.”

Already? His papa had left last night to go and try to recruit the boy that upset him so much. Martin couldn’t help but feel a spark of disdain at the thought of the boy who made his parents so stressed out. They had almost gotten another divorce over the boy’s refusal to accept the invitation to The Magnus Institute.

Of course, his parents got divorced all the time, so he wasn’t exactly concerned about them splitting up for forever, but the legal paperwork was always horribly tedious. Martin had gotten to know his dad and papa’s respective divorce lawyers better than his own aunts and uncles. 

“Thanks for telling me.” Martin yawned. “Can you, please go and inform my parents that I’ll be down soon. Okay?” Trinket nodded and ran out of his bedroom. 

Martin got dressed and gingerly picked up his wand. He had amused himself in the past few weeks by picking out a silly name for his wand. Martin entertained the nickname of Saliva, Terresa, or Florence, but he eventually settled on Catherine, after his ‘mother’.

He couldn’t remember much about his mum. She left his dad after she found out about the affair. According to his dad, Cathrine never even considered taking Martin along with him, she said it was because he reminded her too much of his dad. Martin would be lying if he remarked that her reservations towards him did not creep into his mind every so often, but was happy and content with his family, blood related or not.

With the lingering thought of his mum in Martin’s mind, he set off to the kitchen with his wand, Catherine, in hand. Some people might have found it odd that he named his wand, but Martin liked to think that it gave the piece of wood some meaning.

He slipped the chunk of wood into his robe pocket as he swung through the dining room door with a grin on his face. Like always, his parents were waiting for him at the table. A steaming bowl of porridge fogged up the atmosphere, specifically around his papa’s eyes. It made for a nearly comical framing of his papa’s mouth moving sharply in speech.

The three family members nodded to each other to communicate a hello and good morning as Martin sat at his designated seat. He picked up the ladle and spooned a generous portion of food.

Ever since he had gotten his wand all of the days blended together. The euphoria of receiving his acceptance letter faded, and his papa and dad returned to their reserved and mysterious selves.

His parents barely talked to him during the day. The moment he was done with breakfast, dinner, or lunch, Martin would go off and hangout in the gardens with Trinket and the other house elves. The Bouchard Darden was so vast that his papa and dad would not be able to find him without putting in an actual effort, which they never did. It provided a sense of comfort and warmth that was juxtaposed to the gloom that surrounded the flowers and trees of the garden.

They all scarfed down the porridge until they were scraping the bottom of their bowls. Martin’s papa and dad were talking quietly enough for their son to be oblivious to their conversation, which was an impressive feat as they were less than a few meters from him.

Martin was about to excuse himself from breakfast when he was finally able to catch a fragment of his parents’ discussion. It was only a word, but it was enough to drive Martin back into his seat. 

“Boy–” Just that simple word reminded Martin of why his papa was gone last night.

He interjected himself. “How was your trip this time? Did the boy finally accept the letter?” Martin licked the residue off his spoon.

His papa contemplated his bowl for a moment. “Yes, eventually.”

“I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t go to The Magnus Institute. He must be pretty daft.” Martin said to himself.

“Martin, this boy is not normal.” His dad sighed after a while, he looked more serious than Martin had seen him in a long time. “Your papa was assigned to this boy personally. He has a lot of. . . issues.”

Martin was surprised by the forthrightness of his dad. “What do you mean?” 

“He has a streak of being a delinquent. He has committed several types of muggle crimes.” His dad began to count on his fingers. “Shoplifting, vandalism, attempted assault, driving recklessly, driving without a license, underaged drinking, indecent exposure, and public intoxication.”

“Merlin’s Beard. All that? He can’t be older than sixteen.” Martin gapped, trying to comprehend how someone could commit so many crimes.

His papa frowned. “This boy is violent whenever he gets the chance. His family is worse, his uncle tried to attack me when I was delivering his letter, and he cheered his uncle on.” His papa rubbed his eyes and groaned, he looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that papa.” Martin slid his hand across the dining table in a show of sympathy.

“I’ll be alright, but be careful at school this year. He is a danger to himself and others.” Martin had half a mind to ask his papa who the boy was, however he knew that student confidentiality was secured by some spell that he couldn’t pronounce. 

Martin folded his napkin and placed it in his bowl next to his spoon. “I’ll keep that in mind. May I be excused?” 

“Sure.” His dad said, no longer interested in talking to Martin. “Be back by sundown.”

Without really thinking about his path, Martin found himself back at the garden. Large trees leaned into the direction of the manor, creating a wall around the manor backyard. The garden stretched the length of the whole house. A low fog hung in the air, drifting just above the grass. Flourishing Early Grey Roses were littered about, accompanied by muted green bushes and undergrowth. 

No sunlight made its way through the clouds which looked heavy with the promise of rain. Martin doubted it would rain, it never did.

Even though no rain ever hit the ground, the grass was always unexplainably damp. Martin didn’t mind. He fell onto the soft bed of grass beneath. Water seeped through his robes, stopping before it could actually reach his skin, but still making his back rather cold.

Martin began to hum an old nursery rhyme under his breath as he waited for Trinket to come into the yard. 

Just when he was about to go and get Trinket himself, Martin was hit from the back of the head by a dull object. Upon turning around, he found a crumpled paper airplane slowly soaking up the morning dew. 

He quickly picked up the airplane and unfolded it to find a note from Trinket, most likely written by a Quick-Quotes Quill, because house elves could not read nor could they write.

~~  
Mister Blackwood,

Please accept my dearest apologise, Bumble has fallen ill with a flu. I will be unable to join you in the garden this morning. Forgive me for notifying you so late. Remember not to get grass stains on your robes or Mister Bouchard and Lukas will get cross.

P.S: You still owe me that eclair  
Love, Trinket  
~~

Martin smiled. The day before he had bet Trinket that she couldn’t throw a ball through a vine that formed a circle. Trinket won and he promised to bring her a chocolate creme filled donut.

Even without Trinket to join him, Martin spent most of the day in the garden. He kept Catherine close to his side. Ever once and a while he would wave his wand about. Nothing ever came from the tip, but the power always flowed through his veins, giving him a satisfying jolt.

He wished someone had told Martin about the feeling that came from using magic. From a young age, Martin knew he was magical. He had been told when he was six months old that he could levitate his rattle out of the crib. When he was five, Martin turned his papa’s beard from grey to sea foam green out of boredom. 

His parent’s said he was powerful, but compared to his dad and papa his magic seemed lackluster at best. In fact, Martin was beyond relieved when he got his letter, he did not find himself magical enough to get in, and it wasn’t like Martin had ever met any other kids that he could compare powers with.

Martin was sitting on the stone bench with Catherine in his grip. An idea came into his mind. Up until then he had waved Catherine around aimlessly and with no purpose. What if he actually tried to channel concentrated magic through the wand?

He wanted to prove to himself that he was good enough to go to The Magnus Institute. Martin took a deep breath and attempted to manifest magic. A strange tingly feeling bubbled at the pit of his stomach. Martin tilted his head to the side, drawing the tingling up to his fingers that connected to his wand.

Martin flicked out him wand and made random figures in the air, hoping something would happen.

Something indeed did.

Flames exploded from Catherine. Martin pressed his back against the cold stone of the bench. He dropped Catherine to the ground but fire kept spilling out of the tip. The flames drifted up into the sky and formed a solid block that radiated heat onto his face. The fire didn’t seem to reach above a certain point, it leveled off in a straight line. The sides of the block also ended in an even line, which was shocking as the wall of fire was no less than a meter wide. The smoothness of the flames continued on the bottom until it reached a point in the middle which Catherine was spewing fire into, fueling the flames.

It almost looked like a stage. Sparks flew up from Catherine, creating a vaguely human shaped cluster. The figure lifted its arms as flames surrounded it. Martin expected the figure to be engulfed but instead the flames waited, like they were listening. Another group of embers formed another entity. The figure was laying on the ground. It slowly got on its knees, it slumped over and placed its hands near its face, looking like it was weeping.

The first figure moved towards the second. The second got up fast and trekked backwards, reaching for something in its back pocket. The two figures both held an object in their hands. They forward in what appeared to be an attack. The first figure shot a burst of ember at the second who promptly fell over and disappeared. The first figure began to flicker and sway, Martin didn’t know why, but he thought that it was laughing. Flames formed around the first figure again, this time they started to grow bigger and swallowed the first figure whole.

Fire rushed back into the wand tip with a sharp crack. Dark ash replaced the flames. Ash covered him from head to toe. Martin rushed to grab Cathrine and shove it back into his robe pocket. He grabbed at his chest and tried to control his breathing.

He heard footsteps descend down the stairs of the garden. Martin saw his papa standing at the entrance. His papa ran forward and knelt in front of Martin.

“Martin, what happened? I saw light, and I swore I smelled smoke.” His papa grasped his wrist.

“It’s my wand. . . it just. . . freaked out.” Martin whimpered. “It started throwing out flames left and right. All I did was wave it!”

His papa frowned. “You know we aren’t allowed to use magic at home. We go to The Magnus Institute for a reason.”

Martin sniffed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” His papa said, wiping a smudge of soot from Martin’s nose.

Martin let his papa lift him up onto his feet. His mind tried to tell him he should think about what just happened, but he was shaken. Right then all he wanted to do was take a bath.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns more about the wizarding world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all can pry goth Annabelle outta my cold dead hands. Also I wrote this whole chapter whilst listening to the Mechanisms, so I might’ve based her on the general vibes from the band.

Jon was pleased to find that the address did actually lead somewhere. On the corner Odegaard and 27th street a quaint little shop sat waiting for him. A rickety old sign that hung loosely from the rusted hook read: The Leaky Cauldron.

Thankfully, by the time he had reached his destination the sun had risen over the horizon. The cold autumn air chilled Jon’s bones, fogging up his glasses. 

Jon walked into The Leaky Cauldron. The door slowly closed behind him, it creaked and groaned, only contributing to the creepy atmosphere Jon felt.

He was greeted with a bustling cafe. A group of strange wizards were sitting in the corner and chatting under their breaths. Several witches lounged on the couch, stirring their tea with spoons that they were twirling with magic. Two men were listening to an old fashioned radio that rested on a bench. An odd looking person lurked in the back, they were no more than a meter high. A few people were eating breakfast in the middle and talking loudly about their day.

A hand rested lightly on Jon’s shoulder, he practically jumped out of his skin. Fuck, he wished people would stop doing that to him.

“Where are your parents, child?” The voice from behind him asked.

Jon turned to see a man with dark skin and braided long hair. He looked tired, and his robes were withered with age. The man had a cracked wand in his hands. He had a name tag on his right breast that told Jon that the man was Anthony Cane.

“Anthony Cane?” Jon shook his head slightly to move his hair in front of his face so Anthony could not see the details of Jon’s features.

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man sounded sleepy. “Where are your parents. Unless you’re planning on going into Diagon Alley, you’re not allowed to come into The Leaky Cauldron.”

Truth be told. This might have been the longest conversation he had ever had with an adult who wasn’t family, Raymond, or Peter. His teachers never paid attention to him, all the other kids bullied Jon every chance they got, and the last thing his teachers wanted to do was get involved. Jon was nervous that he was going to mess up, or that he was going to say something awkward. Anthony seemed to be in charge, and if he was not careful, Jon could get kicked out. If Jon did not get into Diagon Alley ,then he wouldn’t be able to continue to explore the wizarding world. He was too far in to quit now, his hopes were up.

“I–” Jon thought hard about how he was going to phrase the next stenance. “I got a letter from Peter Lukas. I was accepted into The Magnus Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He told me to come here.”

Anthony Cane rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s Lukas.” He muttered. “Are you from a muggle family, boy?”

“I’m sorry?” Jon twisted his face. “I do not know what a muggle is.” It sounded like an insult, but the man didn’t seem like he had the energy to be rude.

“Muggle. Are you from a non wizarding family?” Anthony fiddled with his wand.

“Y–yes! Well– I mean no, er, kind of.” Anthony didn’t look awake enough to care. “I was raised in a ‘muggle’ household, but my mum and dad were both wizards, I think.” Jon remembered back to what Peter had told him.

“Listen,” Anthony ran a hand over his face. “I have two young witches coming in soon. They know their way around Diagon Alley. Why don’t you sit down and eat breakfast and I’ll ask them to show you around when they arrive.” 

“Really?” Jon was surprised by his kindness. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Anthony led Jon to the bar and sat him down. “I’ll go get my daughter and she’ll help you, alright?”

“Wait!” Something came to his mind “I don’t have anything to pay you with. In fact, I do not know how to pay you. I assume you will not take pounds?”

“No we don’t. You can pay us back once you go to Gringotts, our bank. If your parents were wizards, then they should have money in the vault.” Anthony left Jon to go into the back.

Anthony returned with a girl that looked about his age. She had his father’s face but her hair was frizzy and short with a portion of it dyed a dull blonde. Her robes were rimmed with green, and her chest had a forest green emblem with a silver snake plastered for all to see. She was about two meters and loomed over Jon. She didn’t appear like she would be two meters tall, as the girl was about as thin as a stick.

“This is my daughter, she’ll take your order.” Anthony turned to his child. “Be polite, Annabeth.” He snapped before walking away.

“It’s Annabelle.” She groaned quite enough for her father not to hear. Annabelle observed Jon and took out a quill, picking up a notepad. “Right, so what do you want?”

“Do you have coffee?” Jon questioned softly. He didn’t feel comfortable asking for something from Annabelle. She was scary.

“Yeah. What else do you want?” She scribbled down his order.

“Nothing, just a coffee is good.” Jon looked at his nails and tapped a random rhythm on the bar table.

Annabelle raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re a fucking stick, don’t you want something to eat. I can cook up a plate of eggs.”

“You are one to talk.” Jon let slip out before he could stop himself. 

Annabelle barked out in a laugh. “You got me there. I’ll put that order in.” Jon blushed and was grateful she wasn’t mad at him.

She came back with a black coffee five minutes later. He accepted the coffee from Annabelle with a thank you. Jon took a sip and expected to see her gone by the time he peered up again, but she was still there, staring at him.

“Do you need something?” Jon asked. “I am not able to pay you right now, your father said I could pay you both later.”

“I know, he told me.” She dragged her finger along the bar. “I’m just curious.” 

Jon put his coffee to the side. “Curious about?”

“You.” Annabelle leaned on her bony elbow. “I don’t know anything about you. I’ve never seen you around her before, but my father said you aren’t a muggleborn. And he told me that you needed a guide in Diagon Alley.” Annabeth squinted.

“I do not know much.” Jon sighed. “But my parents were both wizard, or so Peter Lukas told me–”

“Bloody hell!” Annabelle cried. Her father whipped his head around and glared at her. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Peter fuckin’ Lukas. Him and his goddamn husband are the bane of my existence.”

Jon thought she was done, so he tried to jump in, but she began again. “They are always sending muggleborns our way without any sort of guidance.” She held up a hand. “No offence, but they have no compassion when it comes to recruiting students for the Institute.”

Annabeth pressed her lips together. “They haven’t sent a muggleborn our way in over a year, and I swear. . .” She paused. “It’s just, I swear I heard Peter had quit his job a few months ago. Something about spending more time with his son-in-law or some shite. Are you sure it was Peter Lukas, was he dressed like a sailor?”

“Yes, like one straight out of a cartoon.” Said Jon.

“That’s him. I wonder why he came out of retirement just for you.” Annabelle thought out loud.

“I do not know, he seemed normal to me. Or as normal as any wizard can be.” Jon thought that was the end of the discussion so he brought the cup back to his mouth to take another swig. 

“What’s your name?” Annabelle said.

“Why do you want to know.” Jon spoke with an air of caution.

“You’re interesting.” Annabelle hopped up onto the bar, swinging her legs. “Besides, we are going to be peers. I’ll find your name out eventually.”

“I am Jonathan Sims.”

“Alright Jonathan, have you heard about the Magnus Houses?” Annabelle smiled slyly. Jon shook his head. “Well, get ready, I’m gonna do an exposition dump.” She cracked her knuckles.

“There are four Houses: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You get sorted when you first arrive, your House will be your second family. Most people marry someone from their House. I barely know anyone who is friends with someone outside their House. Bottomline, Houses are important.” Annabelle took in a breath.

“Hufflepuffs are loyal, kind, honest, and hardworking. Ravenclaws are creative, original, independent, and thirst for knowledge. Slytherins are clever, resourceful, determined, and ambitious. Gryffindors are brave, chivalrous, daring, and are obsessed with being right all the time.” Jon inhaled all of the information with satisfaction. Annabelle looked over him, scrutinizing every single part of Jon.

“I bet you’re a Hufflepuff. No offense but you seem kinda. . . ya know.” Annabelle waved her hand in front of her face.

“No, I do not know.” Jon deadpanned.

“You seem like a stoner, mate.” Annabelle explained. “I mean fuck, you keep looking around like this is the first building you’ve ever been in. Also, you’re dim as hell.”

Before Jon could express his disdain, Annabelle started. “Or maybe you’re a Ravenclaw? Come on, have you ever heard of a conjunction?”

Jon blinked at Annabelle slowly. Her eyes lit up, she drew a coin out of her pocket. Annabelle quickly threw the coin at Jon’s nose. He bit his lip to quiet the shriek brimming in his throat. Jon nearly fell off of his chair, but was able to grab the bar edge at the last second.

Annabelle clicked her tongue. “Definitely not Gryffindor.” She scanned him again. “I hope to god that you aren’t sorted into Slytherin.” Annabelle leaned closer to him. “Jonathan Sims, doesn’t sound like a legacy name.”

She leapt off the bar and crossed her arms, smiling. “Probably a Hufflepuff.” Jon couldn’t help but feel like he was being insulted. From what Jon could gather, the Hufflepuffs didn’t seem like a bad house. Loyalty and honesty were some of the most valued traits in a partner, according to what Jon read.

“Agatha, are you done harassing the patreons?” Anthony asked, striding over to the two children.

Annabelle didn’t even try to correct her father this time. “I’m not harassing anyone. I’m just telling Jonathan about the Houses at Magnus. I thought he would like to know, you know as a muggleborn.”

“He’s not a muggleborn, just muggle raised.” Anthony took Jon’s empty coffee cup from the bar and placed it with the dirty dishes. He turned back to them and peered at a pocket watch. “Those witches I mentioned should be showing up any minute.”

A call sounded from across the room, over by the corner where the strange men were whispering. Anthony ran over to the men, leaving them alone again.

“Listen, I’m telling you, as a word of advice, from one student to another, it doesn’t matter what House you get. Just pray you get sorted at all.” Annabelle said ominously. “They don’t say this, because it’s upsetting, but sometimes people don’t get sorted at all. Sometimes they make mistakes and send students to Magnus that aren’t wizards at all. You want to know the worst part?”

Jon took a shaky breath, suddenly worried that Peter Lukas had lied to him, that he wasn’t a wizard, that he was just a boy who was destined to live under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive for the rest of his life. Nonetheless, he nodded, dreading the answer.

“We never find out what happens to them.” Annabelle mumbles. “The headmaster drags them away in front of everyone in The Great Hall. No one ever sees them again. Of course most people think she kills them, can’t have everyone knowing our secret.”

Jon’s response caught in his throat. He suddenly felt nauseous. His head started to spin. All the former evidence that he had magic inside him faded out of his mind. He didn’t want to die. He was too young.

“Annabelle.” A femine voice rang in his ear. “Stop, you’re scaring the guy half to death.” Two girls stood next to each other, their hands grasped together.

One of the girls had a honey complexion, her hair was wrapped up into a hijab, though Jon could see a few wisps of baby hairs. Dark freckles dusted the girl’s high cheekbones. Her deep eyes appeared to be vast and smart.

The other girl was about a head shorter. The tuft of blonde hair sitting on her head was only a few shades lighter than her porcelain skin. A long pink scar trailed from her under eye to her bottom lip. The energy she radiated was that of a feral chihuahua, her lips were down turned in a resting scowl, and her sky blue eyes were sharp.

“He knows I’m joking, doesn’t he?” Annabelle smirked at Jon, who was too freaked out to answer.

“Whatever.” The first girl rolled her eyes. “She’s just joking.” She dragged the other girl over to two bar stools by the hand.

“I’m Basira. This is Daisy.” She jabbed her thumb back at who Jon assumed was her girlfriend. He had never seen a same sex couple in real life. He’d read only one book –Giovanni’s Room– featuring homosexuals in a light that was some what positive. Nobody in the restaurant seemed to mind that the girls were holding hands, so Jon just guessed that wizards didn’t care.

“Jon.” He said. “Erm, mister Cane told me you’d be helping me find my way around Diagonally.”

Daisy sighed. “You mean Diagon Alley? Lord, we’ve got our work cut out for us.” She said mainly to Basira.

Basira rolled her eyes. “Sure do, we better get to it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will just be Jon. The next time we see Martin will be at the beginning of the year.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew goes to Gringotts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Procrastinating on uploading because I was sick with a stomach bug???? More likely than you think.

Daisy and Basira downed a cuppa and a glass of water respectively before standing up. Jon stared at them blankly. They stared back, waiting for him to make the first move. 

From what Jon could tell, Daisy and Basira weren’t the most kind and warm of people. He hadn’t seen either of them smile, even in a greeting to Annabelle, who was clearly their friend. Jon was not sure how Daisy got her scar, but he didn’t think he wanted to know. She radiated the energy of an ex convict.

Basira leaned absentmindedly against the side of a backdoor that Jon had seen multiple people go through. Daisy untangled her hand from Basira’s and took out a cigarette packet from her cloak pocket, drawing it up to her mouth, liting it with a lighter that appeared out of nowhere.

She took a drag from the cigarette and blew it in the directions of Jon’s face, who scrunched up his nose. “Right, muggle boy, let’s go.”

Daisy opened up the backdoor, propping it opening with her heel. She ushered her girlfriend and Jon through into a crusty alleyway. 

A nervous shiver ran violently down his spine. The alley looked like someplace a person would be killed and dismembered in. Being alone in the alley with two freaky girls who slightly scared him definitely didn’t help with his anxieties. 

Basira reached into her cloak and got out what he assumed to be a wand. It was long and spindly with a white handle and a red wood base. She walked up to a void in the brick wall, and taped her wand around the hole in a circular motion.

The bricks folded back, and created a doorway. Jon didn’t get the chance to see what laid behind the door, as he had fallen back onto the ground the moment the bricks slid away. 

Jon squeaked out something that resembled a ‘what the…!’. Daisy started to laugh hysterically as Basira groaned and reached down to help Jon onto his feet.

“Christ, please warn me next time you do. . . that!” He waved his arms in a vaguely mystical manner.

“Alright, muggle boy, we’ll keep that in mind.” Daisy breathed out between chuckles. Basira turned to stare at her pointedly until her laughter petered out into huffs. 

“This is Diagon Alley, it’s something of a wizarding shopping mall.” Basira took him by the elbow roughly. “And to go shopping, you need a bank.”

She motioned forward and Jon’s sight finally adjusted to his surroundings. People bustled around him, going about their business, bumping into him at times. Serval colourful shops lined the street. At random points there were gaps in between the shops that broke off into other streets than likely led to different parts of Diagon Alley. They had probably stepped out onto the main street of Diagon Alley, as the road was nearly a kilometer long.

At the very head of the street sat a large building. It was bigger than the local library tenfold. The building, Gringotts, was raised up several meters off of the ground. A wide set of marble stairs were the only things connecting Gringotts with the rest of Diagon Alley. Intricate pillars held up a pushed out roof that had the words Gringotts Wizarding Bank displayed proudly on the front.

A stream of thin smoke drifted under Jon’s nose, alerting him of where he was. Daisy smiled at him, waving her cigarette in his direction. A small amount of grey vapor escaped out of her mouth, matching the colour admitting off her cigarette.

Basira took Daisy’s cigarette from her fingers, threw it on the pavement, and stomped on it until the smoke no longer flowed under her boot. Daisy pouted, but didn’t protest.

“Muggle borns will get a sack of Galleons to help pay for school supplies.” Basira said, leading them towards the entrance of Gringotts. “It’s only enough to get the bare essentials, but better than nothing, I guess. Unfortunately, it means you would be able to get a pet.”

“I won’t need to worry about that.” Jon had been waiting to say this since Daisy had first called him a ‘muggle boy’. “I’m not a muggle born.”

The first emotion besides mild disinterest showed on Basira’s features. She gave him a face of genuine surprise. “You’re not? Really? Shouldn’t you be shopping with your parents then?”

Jon’s stomach twisted, “No, no they’re dead.” He let out a pitiful laugh. “Can’t exactly go shopping with two corpses.” 

Basira frowned, and even Daisy looked startled. “Oh, erm, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I don’t remember them much. I live with my aunt and uncle, they’re muggles.” Jon shrugged and stuffed one hand into his worn coat pocket, and toyed with his necklace with the other.

Daisy cleared her throat. “Well, then your family should have left you money in Gringotts. That is, if your family trusted Gringotts, but I wouldn’t worry about that, most of us wizards and witches do. Do you know your mum or dad’s last name?”

“Yeah, Elizabeth and William Sims.” Jon smiled to himself, remembering his father and mother always gave him a sense of melancholy. 

The three to be students reached the stairway leading up to Gringotts. Now that they were closer to the doors to the bank, Jon could see that the doors were being overseen by small, portly, and wrinkled creatures. The word that popped into Jon’s head was ‘goblin’.

After climbing up the stairs, Jon and Basira were out of breath and had to take a moment before they could go on. A poem on the right door caught Jon’s eye, but he couldn’t be bothered to read it. 

Basira pushed open the large marble doors to reveal a marbled hall with goblins sitting on high tables, typing away on typewriters. Basira walked towards the highest table, which was placed in the centre of the back. 

“Hello. I would like to request access into the Sims vault. I don’t have a key, and would like to instead ask you to do a blood test on their next of kin.” Basira sounded like she had rehearsed. 

The goblin blinked slowly. “Very well.” His voice was like gravel against Jon’s ears. “Bring forward the blood carrier.”

Daisy nudged Jon with her shoulder. He stepped towards the goblin, who took out a long and shiney dagger. He pointed a wrinkled finger on the desk, and didn’t take it away until Jon put his hand palm up next to it. 

Before Jon could ask what he was doing, the goblin drew the knife across his palm. Blood started to form over the cut immediately. A stinging sharpness made Jon hiss with pain. He felt faint all of a sudden. The sight of blood was something that always made Jon nauseous. 

The goblin grabbed his wrist and dripped his blood onto blank parchment. As soon as the goblin released his wrist, Jon backed away and clutched his hand to his chest. The cut was deep. He prayed it wouldn’t leave a scar, but based on the medical book he had read, Jon wasn’t very hopeful.

Daisy grabbed his forearm, noticing that he was swaying and looked like he was about to pass out. He wrapped his arm around his middle, trying to keep the vomit inside his stomach. She rubbed a hand on his shoulder in a display of sympathy. 

Jon knew that her abrupt turn in personality was probably due to the guilt of calling him a muggle boy, as such, being a proxy of making him tell her and Basira about his mother and father, but he appreciated the effort, maybe he could learn to like her.

The goblin picked the paper up from his table and read it outloud. “Jonathan William Sims. Son of William Washington Sims and Elizabeth Marilyn Sims, Maiden Name: Neilson. Vault Number: 927.” The goblin looked up through his glasses. “Is that correct?”

Jon had no idea what his vault number was, but all of the other information aligned with the truth, so he assumed that could go for the vault as well. He nodded.

The goblin called for one of his brothers. “Ricbert!” He shouted at no one in particular. Another goblin strode up to them. “He’ll be taking you down.” The first goblin whispered something to the second who hummed a sound of understanding.

Ricbert took his away from Daisy and Basira, judging by their lack of movement, this was normal. He stopped in front of a door that he opened with a long finger. The metal creaked as they both stepped into a cold cave with minecarts. Ricbert pushed him inside the cart and pulled the lever back with a force that startled Jon.

The minecart lurched backwards and started then forwards at a steady pace. The bumping of the rickety wooden railroad tracks under his feet caused Jon to grip onto the steel edge of the minecart with his left hand. 

His hand protested vehemently, forcing him to draw it back with speed. His knife laceration throbbed nastily, more bloody trickling from the wound. Wonderful, fantastic. His likelihood of contracting tetanus just increased by about ninety percent. He glared pointedly at the rusted metal edge of the minecart.

Wind whooshed past his head, whipping his hair all about his face and into his mouth. Jon frowned and tightened his right hand around the backpack, worried about it flying off in the pandemonium. He had a pressing itch to place his rambunctious hair into the ponytail current wrapped on his wrist, but the fear of falling into the vast below quieted his desire. 

They traveled for a ways before coming to a stop in front on a ledge with a large sturdy door labeled Vault 927 in metallic calligraphy. Ricbert produced a key from out of nowhere and stuck it in the hole.

Jon didn’t think he would ever get tired of it; magic, that is. Ten hours, he’s known about the wizarding world –or maybe it should be called the magic world, wizards were clearly not the only supernatural beings– and he couldn’t imagine going back. 

He knew he would not be able to cut off his auntie, uncle, and cousins. Not after they’d done so much for him without any expectation of compensation, but this world called to a part of him that Jon didn’t even know existed. Jon would contact his family after he was settled comfortably in The Magnus Institute. Though, the thought of their worry lingered in the back of his head. Would they call the police? Was he reported missing? Were people looking for him right now?

A hiss of air indicated that the door was about to open. Jon stepped back along with Ricbert. Behind the door laid something Jon would remember for a long time. 

Gold.

Piles and piles of gold. Not exactly the type you might see in the movies in a dragon’s den. Not a floor made of gold coins, stretching several kilometers, threatening to collapse under you at any moment. No, all things considered, the room was relatively small. Only a few meters wide and long, about the size of Courtney or Branden’s room. But the piles of golden coins, cups, and other jewels climbed almost all the way up to the ceiling. 

“T-this cannot all be for me?” Jon gapped. All of the jewels covering the room reflected off of his glasses, creating an almost blinding light.

Ricbert seemed unfazed and bored, like he wanted to be anywhere besides where he was right now. “Yes, I suppose it is. The Sims’ have no other next of kin that are magical.”

“Is this. . . a lot?” Jon asked, not wanting to appear greedy. “I mean relative to the amount of pounds, erm, or I guess you call them Galleons, that muggle students get from the school?”

Ricbert reached into his waistcoat and drew out a burlap sack that rattled with metal. “There are thirty Galleons in this bag. This is the basic allowance given to all muggleborns.” He motioned to the piles of gold, which Jon now noticed had silver and bronze intertwined. “There are three hundred and nine-five Knuts, eight Sickles, and five hundred thirteen thousand and six hundred twenty-nine Galleons.”

“Oh,” Jon’s brain faltered. “That’s good, yeah?” He tapped a rhythm on his thigh.

“As far as I am concerned, it is good, mister Sims.”

“Uh, just Jon is fine. Mister Sims was my father.” Jon didn’t know that his father went by mister Sims, but he had always wanted to say that.

Ricbert looked actually surprised. He nodded, his shoulders slumping down, like a weight was being lifted off. “Right, well, suppose you should pick up some Galleons so you can get your supplies. One Galleon is equal to your five British banknotes.” Ricbert gave him a burlap sack from his waistcoat.

Jon leaned over and scooped several handfuls into the sack until he thought there were about one hundred Galleons. He took the hair tie from around his wrist and looped it around the sack so the coins wouldn’t slip out. Jon slipped his backpack off and unzipped it before placing the sack in the schoolbag, careful not to crush the essays and textbook.

The two of them hopped on the minecart and Jon was able to pull his hair into a ponytail with his uninjured hand so it wouldn't blow in his face. Ricbert was less dignified and more relaxed on the trip back.

Ricbert showed him into Gringotts again, where Jon promptly ran over to Daisy and Basira, the latter of whom was holding a rolled up scroll in her hand. Daisy raised her hand to signal their position and moved so he could slip in between her and Basira.

“Oh, Jon. There you are.” Basira said, noticing his arrival. “The head goblin gave me your Magnus letter. He told me a man named Peter Lukas dropped it off earlier this morning.” 

She handed the letter to him. He undid the tie on the scroll and let the paper roll down. Jon read the letter several times over. It said the basics that he expected. That The Magnus Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry invited him to join the new school year. According to the letter, the first term would start on September first, two days from now. Jon flipped the scroll around and found the school supplies list.

He clutched the letter to his chest and smiled. It felt official now. Jon was going to The Magnus Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really guys, sorry for not uploading. 😔   
> I got super sick on Thursday and only felt better on the Friday of the week after. Just my luck eh

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’ll update as soon as I can :)


End file.
